Volver
by Isobel Morgan
Summary: "You can't be here, Jess. You're dead." "Was. I've come back, Sam. Come back to you." Rated M for sex and language.
1. Chapter 1

This is set post-season 5, but I haven't seen any of season 6 yet (It's not airing in Britain, to my knowledge), so it's best to think of this as a 'what if?' rather than trying to be canon.

**Volver.**

**1.**

At first, when the door opened, Sam didn't look up. Dean wasn't supposed to be back for hours yet; maybe he forgot something.

"Hello, Sam."

He was on his feet before he was even aware he was moving; the instant recognition of that voice and what it meant.

"No! You're in Hell! I took you there myself!"

Jessica didn't move, standing in the doorway with her hand still on the door handle.

Sam felt the fury, the impossibility of it all rising up so fast he didn't know how to hold it in. Lucifer _couldn't_ have gotten out, there was no way, so how was he here now, wearing the shape he knew would torture Sam more than anything dreamt up by all the legions of the pit.

"Stop it, just… Stop. Stop it. Stop looking like that. Please."

Even if it wasn't Lucifer, some other demon or sonofabitch that thought it could survive going up against Sam Winchester wearing the face of his murdered lover, whatever. They were toast.

He didn't have the Colt to hand, but there were plenty of other weapons, and he grabbed at the bag now, never taking his eyes off the figure in the doorway. Why her? Why did they always have to choose her?

She still hadn't moved. She didn't, for once, look the same as when she'd died. Her hair, her beautiful hair, was cut shorter, straightened and tinted a rich brown, and she was wearing clothes much like his own; jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, as opposed to the cute outfits she'd favoured in life. A shoddy reproduction, then, made from someone else's memories instead of the ones that burned inside his brain.

"It's me, Sam. Really me. It's Jess."

"What, do you think I'm stupid? I know she's dead; I was there!"

"So was I."

There was something in her voice, the intense sadness in her face, that made Sam hesitate. He wanted, so badly, for this to be real. But he knew it couldn't be.

"I remember it all; Brady came over, said he needed someone to talk to, but it wasn't Brady. His eyes went black, and the next thing I knew, I was on the ceiling and there you were, Sam. You came in and there was blood and fire. And I died."

Sam's hand was shaking so much he could barely hold the gun.

"And then I came back."

"What do you mean? Came back?"

"I was away for a long time."

Jess' eyes were holding his own steadily.

"And it took a lot, but I made it back. I've come back, Sam. Come back to you."

Despite everything he'd seen hunting, everything he knew, Sam felt himself start to slip. He wanted to believe her, god knows he did. He still had nightmares about being forced to watch her burn before him, how he'd failed to save her.

"That's not possible."

"Why not, Sam? You came back. More than once. So did your brother; you believed him."

"Maybe because no demon, or fallen angel, or whatever the hell you are, ever put on his shape just to fuck with me, to try and trick me. It's always you, Jess, when they want to break me. And I won't let anyone do that again."

"You want proof. That's okay; I would too, in your place."

Jess went over to the glass of water sitting on the table by the door and passed a hand over it, her other hand fingering the crucifix she wore around her neck, reciting a few phrases in Latin, words Sam recognised as a kind of blessing, although he'd never heard Jess say a word of Latin in all the time he'd known her.

Then she picked up the glass, and drank from it.

"See? Holy Water, and it doesn't burn me or make me shrivel."

She rolled up a sleeve to show him the tattoo marking her left forearm; an anti-possession symbol, much like his own.

"If you want to pour out a salt circle, I'd be more than happy to step over it if you want me to, to prove I'm human. That I'm really me."

Sam's heart was beating so hard, it hurt. He gazed at the face of his five-years-dead girlfriend, as if by staring hard enough he could read her mind, see if she was telling the truth.

"How?"

"I had help."

And there was another figure in the doorway behind her, one Sam had had no idea was there; another woman. She was older, maybe fortysomething, attractive in a severe way, with grey eyes and blonde hair pulled back into a bun, dressed in an immaculate white mac that reminded Sam of Castiel.

The penny dropped.

"Oh my God!"

The woman smirked.

"Not quite, kiddo. But close."

"You – you're an angel?"

"My name is Sariel. I have been walking the Earth for many years now, and part of my task here, among other things, is the protection and guidance of one Jessica Lee Moore."

She laid a familiar, almost motherly hand on Jess's shoulder.

"For a while, most of my work involved keeping her away from you, but Jessica doesn't give up easily, and eventually it was decided that you should be allowed to meet again."

"Allowed?"

Instantly Sam was engulfed in a whirl of emotions; mostly the beginnings of acceptance that the girl in front of him was really Jess, his Jess, the girl he'd once thought he'd marry, spend his life with and behind that, coming in really, really fast, was an intense rage at the angel's words.

"You mean you've been keeping us apart? How long?"

"I came back about the same time you did," Jess replied.

"About a year ago. I tried for a long time before that, but they wouldn't let me."

"So why now?"

Sam managed to keep the fury inside, with a colossal effort, holding it back because he knew if he lost it now, he might never get to hear the answers he needed, that Jess might vanish as abruptly as she arrived.

Sariel gave him a very even, very steady look.

"After the events of the Apocalypse, things changed; you're aware of that. Both on Earth and in Heaven. Certain - differences of opinion that were resolved."

There was a pause, and Sam couldn't contain his impatience.

"And?"

"Once your path had been laid, your choices made, certain happenings in the run-up to those events came to be seen in a different light. One of those was how Jessica here died. Before you confined Lucifer to the Pit, the opinion of those of us involved was simply that she was another victim, one of many, and that therefore it was natural. Regrettable, but natural."

She amended, seeing the way Sam's nostrils flared in anger at her words. She might know the gun he still hadn't put down couldn't harm her in the slightest, but this boy and his sibling had destroyed archangels, and thus should not be underestimated.

"Whereas now, we came to see that Jessica's death could be viewed as a sacrifice; part of the plan created around you by Lucifer and his underlings, and thus… reversible."

"A sacrifice?"

Sam looked over at Jess, who had a small, sad smile on her lovely face.

"I know, it sounds crazy. But not half as crazy as everything else, huh?"

"Have you – you were in Heaven?"

"Yes."

"Did we ever meet? I don't remember much about when I was there."

"Meet? You don't meet anyone in Heaven. Or at least, I didn't. But I have been watching you."

All of a sudden, Sam felt a desperate shame at the thought of Jess witnessing the things he'd done since losing her. Not just bringing forth the Apocalypse, but everything. All the things he couldn't tell her about when she'd been alive before.

Killing demons, vampires, ending ghosts and spirits. Fighting with his brother, his father; letting Dean go to Hell for him.

Ruby.

Jess took a step forward and finally, she touched him, her hand on his arm.

"It's okay, Sam. I understand."

"Understand? No, Jess, you can't."

"I said it's okay. I … see things differently now. I'm still me, but I see the wider world."

Sam met her eyes again and felt tears well up in his own for what felt like the first time in years. He didn't usually cry; anger had been his first reaction to everything in such a long time.

"I got you killed, Jess. Because of who, what I am. Because I lied to you. How can that be okay?"

"Because it really is."

She put her hands either side of his face and it was Jess, his Jess, there in front of him and any last doubts withered and died. She was different, in many ways, but then so was he, now, and it was undeniably her. Not even when Dean had come back from Hell, appearing in front of him in such a similar manner, had it felt like this; every thought, worry, agony of guilt flooding through him.

"None of it was your fault, Sammy. You didn't mean it to be that way, and I know you were trying to protect me."

"I couldn't."

"It doesn't matter. You saved the world, in the end. Doesn't that count for anything?"

Nothing could ever take that sensation of intense culpability away, but having her back – maybe that would be a place to start.

"What – what have you been doing, since you came back? For a whole year."

Jess' expression grew more serious.

"Hunting."

"Hunting? Oh Jess - no."

Sam's heart strained within him. Not only had he gotten her killed, now he'd turned her into a hunter? Surely there was nothing more he could do to destroy the girl he loved?

"It was part of how I got them to agree to let me return – if I came back to Earth, then I would become an instrument of Heaven, and I wanted to start by destroying evil. So I'm learning to hunt."

She smiled.

"I learned from the best; watching you and your brother. I met a few other hunters too. And Sariel helps me with the lore, the Latin and Enochian, things like that."

"But Jess – hunting. It's not a life. It'll just get you killed again."

"I told you I'm watching out for her," Sariel spoke up.

Sam had forgotten she was in the room, so intent was he on Jess.

"I have a vested interest in this one, and I intend to keep her alive for as long as I can."

Sam turned his face toward her, his eyes cold.

"Until you're given orders to keep us apart again? Or to let her be 'sacrificed' for some other demon's plan?"

The angel didn't react to his vitriol.

"All prophecies that I am privy to ended when the Apocalypse did. While I won't pretend there are no more plans in motion, there are none that involve Jessica. As for you… well, you Winchesters are the gift that keeps on giving, aren't you?"

"Sari, would you give us a minute?" Jess asked, and the angel popped out of existence, leaving the couple alone together for the first time in more than five years.

So much had happened in that intervening period, and both were aware of it. If Jess hadn't been killed, Sam thought, they'd be married by now, living in a white-picket-fence house in the suburbs with a dog and maybe a couple of kids. He'd be a lawyer and -

"How are you living? I mean, hunting doesn't exactly pay…"

"Waiting tables. I do temp work inbetween jobs, mostly. Tend a little bar, too."

"Waiting tables? Jess, you were a Philosophy major."

Jessica smiled.

"Exactly. I'd probably have ended up doing that anyway. And besides, I can't live the way I did before – no-one's supposed to know I'm back."

"Your parents don't know?"

Jess shook her head, clearly upset by this but keeping it under control.

"They can't. I haven't told anyone my real name and I had to sort of re-invent myself. Which seemed appropriate enough."

"So why can I know? You said they wouldn't let you see me at first?"

"Like I said, no-one's supposed to know that I returned; I can't just walk around telling people I came back to life after being dead for four years. You're the only person who'd understand, and I think they didn't want us to meet at first until they were sure what I'd do. The whole thing about no more prophets is scaring them. Sari finds it hard to cope with no future knowledge, that much I'm sure of."

Sam could understand that; he remembered how hard Castiel had found it to cope with being cut off from Heaven, not understanding what was going on and trying his best to make his own decisions after millennia of obeying orders. Didn't want to think of a whole garrison of angels in that state.

"But I wouldn't let it go. I watched you for a long time, and I couldn't stay away any more. I just about drove Sariel crazy, but I think she understands. She's been living as a human for a lot longer than most angels."

Sam found it hard to care about angels right then.

He stroked the back of his hand down Jessica's face, trying his hardest to take it all in. He'd never expected to get her back, not ever. Maybe once he'd thought they'd be reunited in Heaven, but his experiences of – that place – had changed his dreams so much he'd all but given up hope.

He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, letting himself remember how much he missed her, all the feelings associated with his lover he'd been struggling with for five years. She fit into his embrace perfectly, and he couldn't hold back the tears any more.

"I missed you. God, I missed you so much. I got so lost without you."

"I know, baby."

Jess let him rest his head on her shoulder, stroking his hair.

"I missed you too. Every day. But that other stuff; none of that matters anymore, Sam. I'm here."

She kissed his cheek and he turned his head to meet her lips and they kissed like two broken halves of something fitting back together, clinging to each other out of a desperate need. Neither was the same as they had been when they were just another young couple back at Stanford, and the desire to reconnect was overwhelming.

The kiss became more and more intense, their hands moving over the other as if exploring something new. Jess was stronger now, Sam could feel from the way she pressed herself against him; he remembered how she had taken classes in self-defence back then. She was far tougher now, the muscles in her arms better developed, but then Jess was thinking the same about him. She didn't know the jokes Dean had made about how out of shape Sam had gotten at college, and how he'd kicked it up a gear since resuming hunting, but she could feel his strength as he picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he moved them over to the table, never stopping kissing her.

She tugged the short-sleeved shirt from him, revealing a scarred, tattooed torso that was so different from the one she remembered, her fingers roaming over his skin almost hungrily. When she and Sam had made love before, it had been just that; making love. That wasn't to say there hadn't been passion, but there had never been this aggressive intensity before, this need and it was overwhelming her.

"Sam," she moaned, his hands stripping off her t-shirt, unsnapping her bra and caressing her breasts, sending the most powerful sensations coursing through her.

"I need to tell you… I've done things. Bad things."

"I don't care," Sam replied, kissing his way down her neck. There was a finality to his words, but Jessica persisted.

"I killed someone. They were possessed, and it went wrong and I got him killed, the man the demon had taken over."

Sam paused his exploration of her just long enough to look her deep in the eyes.

"Jess. I don't care. Nothing you've done is so bad that I would care. You know everything I did, and you're still here."

Every time he touched her, he felt like it was eradicating his past, everything he'd done, every remaining trace of that manipulative demon bitch on him dissolving.

"I just… I needed to tell you."

His mouth came down on hers again, his hands unzipping her jeans, pulling them down over her hips. Jess put her arms around his neck, raising herself up so he could strip off her jeans, her underwear going along with it until she was naked beneath him, her legs circling his waist again as he kicked off his own jeans.

Jess clung to him, calling out his name as he pushed inside her, his face pressed into her neck, her hair and they moved together.

It had been a very long five years, and they had a lot of making up to do.

**Disclaimer**: Um, Sam and Jess aren't mine. Obviously.

In case you don't already know, 'volver' is Spanish for 'return', inspired by the Pedro Almodóvar film of the same name.


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

"Hey man," Dean called out to his brother as he came back to the motel room, dropping his keys down on the table by the door, which was sitting at an odd angle.

Sam was sitting on the bed, which was also in a different state to the one it had been when Dean had left earlier, a peculiar expression on his face.

If anything, Dean would have said his kid brother was hiding something; he almost looked guilty. Then it registered that he could hear the shower running. Not just that; there was clearly someone in the shower.

"Who's in the bathroom? You pick up a girl? You sly dog," Dean grinned.

"It's Jessica."

Sam wouldn't meet his brother's eyes and Dean's grin faded.

"What d'you say?"

Sam looked up at him and Dean couldn't remember ever seeing a look like that on Sammy's face.

"I said, it's Jessica."

Despite everything, Sam's voice was completely calm.

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean demanded.

"Jessica's _dead_."

"Yeah well, not any more."

"You're really telling me you think whoever that is in there is Jessica?"

Dean couldn't believe a word he was hearing.

"Not just think. I know."

"So, your old girlfriend waltzes back in after being dead for five years and you just took her word for it?"

"Of course not! I'm not an idiot, Dean!"

"You sure about that?"

Dean fixed Sam with a very direct look, but his brother returned it, just as resiliently.

"Do you think I'd be that stupid? After Lucifer came to visit me wearing her face more than once?"

Dean was a little taken aback.

"You never said anything about that. When did that happen?"

"While he was trying to get me to say yes."

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face.

"When – when Jess came back, I thought it was him. But it's not; it's her, Dean. It's really her."

"How can you be sure? I mean, don't get me wrong, if somehow she could really come back, then that's great but, come on! After everything, after Ruby-"

"Don't."

Sam got to his feet, his body tight with tension.

"Do not mention Ruby. Not to me, especially not to Jess."

"We need to be sure."

Dean knew Sam didn't want to hear what he had to say, but he had to say it anyway.

"You know that. There are ways of finding out if she's human."

"I tried those," Sam replied firmly.

"She is."

"Maybe we should call in Cas."

"I don't think so. There was an angel with her; Jess called her Sariel."

Dean's eyebrows shot up.

"Oh, Jess has her own angel? Well, that's normal."

"She's been resurrected, Dean. Like you were. Like I was."

"And if she hasn't? If she's a shifter, or a demon or god knows what else? And you know what we'll have to do if she is."

Sam's fist moved incredibly fast, but Dean was expecting it and sidestepped.

"Don't you dare!" Sam bellowed, his face lighting up in utter fury.

"Don't you fucking dare say that! Not after-"

"What's going on?"

The voice stopped both brothers in their tracks, halfway to a fight.

Jessica stood in the bathroom doorway, in the middle of towel-drying her wet hair. She was barefoot, wearing one of Sam's shirts like a dress but strangely this didn't make her look vulnerable, as it should have. Instead, there was an aura of quiet capability about her.

Dean stared at her.

"So… you're really Jessica."

"That's right. Hello, Dean."

"You look - different."

Jess gave him a cool look.

"That's hardly surprising. I was dead for four years, and the only times you met me before now, I was in my pyjamas or on fire."

Despite her words conjuring up some of his very worst memories, Sam had to laugh at the look on his brother's face. Jess had always had a streak of sass in her; it seemed being dead until recently had only increased that.

"Well, if it's really you, then you won't mind proving it?"

Dean had a very serious look on his face, and Sam knew he was moments away from throwing Holy Water in her face, or worse.

"What, you want my Social Security number? Or just my blood?"

"Jess, you don't have to-" Sam began but Jess cut him off.

"It's okay, Sam. I get it. I'd probably be the same, if this was the other way around."

Jess pulled up a sleeve, holding out her arm, purposefully displaying her anti-possession tattoo. Dean eyed it suspiciously.

"You a Hunter now?"

"Pretty much."

She proffered her arm again.

"Go ahead."

There was a moment where no-one moved, and then Dean drew a silver knife from the bag of weapons.

"Dean! No fucking way!"

Sam grabbed his brother's arm, but Jess raised her other hand.

"Sam. It's okay. Do it."

She stayed absolutely still while Dean cut her, wincing a little as the blood flowed.

"Satisfied?" Sam snapped, but Dean still had that grim look on his face, remembering the number of times they'd been fooled before; demons immune to Holy Water, creatures unaffected by silver, things salt was supposed to stop but didn't.

"Look, I know how much you want this to be real," he addressed his brother, ignoring Jess.

"But if there's any chance, any chance at all that she isn't what she says she is? I'm calling Cas."

Dean turned and was out of the room before either of them could say anything more.

Jess grabbed a handful of tissue to stem the bleeding.

"Here, let me get you a Band-Aid."

"Thanks. So – what now?"

"How d'you mean?"

"I mean, once Dean gets all this out of his system and works out I'm me. Do you think he'll be okay about it?"

Sam met her worried eyes, smiling and kissing her gently.

"I think he'll be happy you're alive. It's a shock to him, too."

"Listen, Sam. I – you know how I said I was watching you? Could you not tell Dean that? I don't think he'd like it, and I want him to trust me."

"Why would he mind you watching over us?"

Jess grew more serious.

"Things have been hard for you two, more so than anyone else I could see, and I could see pretty far. I mean, all the way down."

"All the – oh."

Sam realised she was talking about Dean's incarceration in Hell. Possibly his own, too.

"I tried not to, but I couldn't help it. You were so hurt then, and it made me more determined to do anything I could to come back."

Sam didn't want to think about those four months, especially not the idea that Jess had been watching him stray down that dark path.

"I'm not sure who made the decision to let me come back," Jess continued.

"The only people I talked to in Heaven all looked like people I used to know, but it wasn't really them. I don't know if they were angels or something else, but eventually, I woke up back in my own body and then Sariel was there and we worked it out from there."

"Was there – did anyone make you promise to do anything? When you were resurrected?" he asked.

Jess shook her head.

"No. Sari explained what being an instrument of Heaven means, but she also said I'd still have a choice, free will. I think the real reason they wanted us apart was because she was afraid someone would try to use me to hurt you again."

She tapped the tattoo on her forearm.

"So she took precautions. There are others too; ones you can't see."

"Yeah, I got some of those too."

This caused a new thought to occur to Sam.

"How did you find me? It couldn't have been Sariel; angels can't find me or Dean."

"I tracked you down. All that time I spent watching you, I kind of picked up on your MO. I met your friend Bobby, too."

"When?"

Sam tried to think if he'd told Bobby anything about Jess, if his fellow hunter could have worked out who this stranger asking about him was.

"A month or so back. I was working on a hunt, this haunted house that turned out to be nothing, and I just ran into him. I told him you and I'd met before and asked him to let me know if you were around. I gave him my number, but obviously I couldn't tell him my real name. Did he mention me?"

Sam searched him memory, and something slotted into place.

"Yeah, he did, but I had no idea who he was talking about. He said the name he got was –Annie? Stacy? Something like that."

Jess smiled.

"Yeah, that was Sariel's idea. I had to pick a new name, and she told me that Anastasia means 'resurrection', so I went for that."

"You're calling yourself Anastasia?"

Sam wasn't sure what to make of that.

Jess put her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest.

"I'll always be Jess with you."

Left alone, chances are Sam and Jess would have ended up back in bed again very quickly, so it was perhaps fortunate for Dean that Castiel decided to answer his call promptly, appearing in the motel corridor in his customarily startling fashion.

Dean still found it difficult to read what Cas was thinking from his body language – probably because it wasn't, strictly speaking, his body. But he knew the angel would be as concerned as he was about Jess, unless he knew something Dean didn't.

"I'm glad you called me," was Cas' opening statement.

"If the person you have encountered is indeed Jessica Moore, then I should try to ascertain the purpose for her resurrection."

"Um…okay."

Dean pushed open the motel room door, interrupting Sam and Jess, who were kissing once more.

"Oh, hey Cas."

Sam lifted Jess off his lap, getting to his feet.

"This is Jessica."

The angel didn't reply, going over to Jess and standing very close to her, staring intently into her eyes. If she was freaked out by this, Jess hid it well. But then, she was a little more used to angels than the average girl on the street, perhaps this was normal to her.

Castiel raised a hand to her forehead, two fingers extended as if he intended to, as Dean put it, 'zap' her, or employ one of his other angelic abilities, then retracted it, as if thinking better of it.

"Good job you stopped there," a new voice added, making Sam and Dean jump. Jess and Castiel were still staring at one another fixedly, neither seemingly disturbed by the appearance of Sariel in the room, standing in the corner with her arms folded, as if she'd been there all along.

"There'd be hell to pay if you'd gone any further. And I mean that quite literally."

"What the fuck?" Dean asked, taken aback, but no-one answered him.

"Sariel."

Cas greeted his fellow angel, not breaking his gaze into Jess' eyes.

"I did not expect to see you here."

"You haven't heard?" the woman in the white mac asked.

"I suppose you've been busy, troubleshooting up in Heaven. But I elected to stay down here long ago and I'm a creature of habit. When I was given the care of this one-"

She indicated Jess.

"It seemed like a simple task. But then I discovered her connection with your boys here, and things got a whole lot more complicated."

"That's understandable."

The Winchesters recognised that, for Castiel, this was the equivalent of a joke.

"So, you satisfied?" Sariel asked, and there was an undertone to her voice that seemed at odds with her light-hearted, maternal persona.

Castiel finally tore his eyes away from Jess.

"She is entirely human."

Sam let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding in. Dean still didn't look thrilled, but he at least stopped staring at Jess with such suspicion.

Cas turned his blue-eyed gaze onto Sariel.

"Why was she resurrected?"

"What, you think your two are the only ones worthy of it? If they kicked the bucket any more frequently, dear old Peter might as well replace the Pearly Gates with a revolving door."

She flicked her grey eyes over Sam and Dean in a way that made both of them uncomfortable.

"She earned it."

"And her purpose?" Castiel asked.

Sariel's eyebrows raised.

"What's anyone's purpose? The work laid out for her isn't strictly defined, but Heaven needs all the tools it can lay its hands on right now, _n'est-ce pas_?"

Castiel performed the habitual head tilt he employed when he did not understand something, but he accepted her words.

"You have a point. You were the angel of guidance and healing, Sariel. I would expect nothing less of you."

"So what does that mean?" Dean demanded, not happy at being excluded from this exchange, wanting to know what was going on.

"It means I'm really me," Jess cut in.

"And I'm not going anywhere. Unless Sam wants me to."

Sam came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist, kissing her cheek.

"I'm not letting you go anywhere."

Dean realised that his opinion at this point was pretty much irrelevant, but then he looked over at Sammy and, when he tried to remember the last time he'd seen his brother happy, he couldn't. And Sam clearly was, at that moment, very, very happy.

He didn't know Jess, but if she had that effect on Sammy, then he was more than prepared to make the effort to try.

"Then … I guess I owe you an apology," he said to Jess, holding out his hand, but she stepped out of Sam's embrace and gave him a hug, startling him.

"No, you don't. You were looking out for Sam, and I'm more grateful for that than I can ever say."

"Well, hey," Dean didn't know what to say. Remembered the djinn-inflicted dream he'd had where Sam and Jess were together, and happy. How he'd never thought that would ever come true.

"He's my brother. And, you know, I still think you're completely out of his league."

Jess laughed.

"Thanks. I think."

"You're really hunting?"

Jess nodded.

"Not anything like what you guys do, but yeah. I'm starting out."

Dean glanced up at Sam.

"And you're okay with that?"

Sam shrugged, too contented to care right then.

"It's her decision, Dean, not mine."

Dean looked over at the two angels, who were staring at each other in a way that made him wonder if they could communicate without speaking aloud.

Then Cas' head snapped around to face Dean.

"I should return to Heaven," he stated.

"I am needed there. If Sariel is remaining here, then perhaps she can assist you and Jessica."

"Alright. Good to see you, man."

Something close to a smile rose on Castiel's face.

"It was good to see you too, Dean."

And he vanished.

"He's a strange one, that Castiel," Sariel remarked.

"Always was. But he's changed a lot since I last saw him."

"When was that?" Dean found he was intensely curious about Castiel's past, what he'd been like before he'd taken a human vessel.

Sariel thought about it.

"Back in Heaven? About… two thousand years or so. Your time, that is. It's a little harder to keep track, upstairs."

Dean was somewhat taken aback.

"You've been on Earth for two thousand years?"

Sariel nodded.

"Give or take the odd decade, yes. There were a lot of us down here then and I – well, I asked to stay."

"What have you been doing for two thousand years?"

"Keeping busy."

Sariel smiled, a gesture the Winchesters were unused to seeing on an angel.

You humans – there's never a dull moment."

That gave Dean something to think about.

"So – what were you doing while the Apocalypse was kicking off?"

"Dean-" Jessica warned, not liking the implication he was making towards her angel.

It made her think of the old WWI recruitment posters she'd seen in history class - a kind of, "What did _you_ do in the Apocalypse, angel?"

But Sariel raised a hand to silence her.

"It's alright, Jessica. It's an important question. With a rather complicated answer."

"So cut to the important part," was Dean's impatient, if not unexpected response.

"As I said, I've been down here a long time. I'm still in contact with Heaven, but I feel more of an affinity with humans than most other angels. I certainly didn't want the Apocalypse to occur, but I was expressly forbidden from interfering in certain events. That included anything involving you two, particularly after he -"

She jerked her head to indicate the space Castiel had occupied.

"Went his own way. Which scared the hell out of a lot of the garrison, I can tell you.

So… I couldn't get involved in the fight but I tried to find ways to help humanity. I couldn't prevent any of the seals breaking, or stop Lucifer, so I tried to organise the rescue efforts afterwards."

"Oh, you were on clean-up duty?" Dean asked.

Sariel fixed him with her cool grey eyes and, for a moment, Dean was reminded of being chewed out by pretty much every teacher he'd ever had.

"If you like. As your friend said, the purpose for which I was originally created was guidance and healing. While I have taken on many other tasks since leaving Heaven… old habits die hard."

"All the panic, the chaos in the wake of Lucifer's rising," Jess cut in, squeezing Sam's hand to let him know, despite everything, she wasn't blaming him.

"It would have been a whole lot worse without Sariel."

"Okay. Just asking."

"And yes," Sariel continued, answering a question that no-one had asked. Aloud, at least.

"If it had been up to me, Jessica would have been resurrected a whole lot earlier. But there were larger schemes at work, powers far greater than me, who felt it was… necessary for her to remain dead. The plans that involved you boys were put in motion long before I came to Earth, even. And I-"

Sariel hesitated, and despite the presence she exuded as an angel, she seemed, for a moment, nothing greater than the human she possessed.

"I lacked the courage to defy my orders directly. While I tried to circumvent them as much as possible, I could not bring myself to openly rebel."

For a moment, Dean felt smug. His angel trumped Jessica's.

And, privately, he felt that his own influence on Castiel had played no small part in the angel's decisions and actions. He'd certainly felt no prouder to call the angel his friend than when Cas had thrown a flaming bottle of Holy Oil over Michael and called him an 'assbutt'; something he would never have done before meeting Dean.

"So… what now?"

This was Sam, who'd been unusually quiet during the exchange, seemingly more occupied with stroking Jess' hair than anything else. Dean wanted to tell them to 'get a room', but seeing as how they had already done so, and were sitting in it, that would have been completely pointless.

"That's up to you three," Sariel replied.

"I was tasked with Jessica's safekeeping, and if she decides to remain with you, then I suppose that could be extended towards assisting you. To a certain degree."

Sariel's aura seemed to shift around her, their perception of her changing from an uncertain almost-human to, unmistakably, an Angel of the Lord and one they would be unwise to fuck with.

"I tell you this now; I will not tolerate any foolish or unnecessary endangering of my charge. So if Jessica remains with you, I will be watching over her, but I will also be watching you."

She held both Winchester boys in her gaze, grey eyes serene but indisputable.

"I don't need to tell you what I mean by that, do I?"

Dean was half-expecting her wings to unfold, or for her to zap them across the planet to make her point, but the presence Sariel conveyed proved more than sufficient.

For a moment, he was irresistibly reminded of Ellen Harvelle, and even though that made him sad, it also made him smile.

Sam kissed Jess on the cheek, arms wrapped tightly around her.

"Trust me, I won't let anything happen to her. I'd die first."

"Sam!" Jess protested, embarrassed but a little pleased.

"She'll be fine," was what Dean decided to say.

He certainly had no desire to see Jess come to harm again, doubly so because he'd already had to watch Sam struggle not to fall to pieces once before, after her murder.

He and his brother had literally been to Hell and back, and they deserved at least a little compensation. He had Lisa and Ben – kind of – and, well, Sariel might be the angel of healing, but for Sam, the only person who could do that was Jess.

And that was enough for Dean.

**Disclaimer**: No, Sam and Jess still aren't mine, neither are Dean and Castiel.

Thank you to **thursday's angel **for letting me borrow/steal/recycle the line about the Pearly Gates and the revolving door.

And to reiterate, I haven't seen any of season 6 yet. I'm assuming that Sam and Dean will resume hunting as before and that Cas comes back from Heaven occasionally; all I know is that there's a year between the end of Season 5 and the beginning of Season 6. So if Lisa and/or Ben are dead by now, erase that line… (but don't tell me! No spoilers!)

Author's note: I chose the name of Jessica's angel from a list I found that merely described Sariel as the angel of 'guidance and healing', which I've employed here; this seemed to fit best with the idea I had for the character. Then, after writing the story, I read some further websites and found that, he (or she, because Sariel is in fact sometimes female, appropriately; I just wanted there to be an angel with a female vessel because Supernatural doesn't have many) is a lot more; an archangel warrior and an angel of death, with an immense knowledge of magic and rituals. I had no idea about this at the time, so it's kind of interesting to read this with that thought in mind, what Sariel could have been before taking a vessel, and that if you apply that description to her, she's an even more appropriate teacher for Jess than I originally intended.


	3. Chapter 3

I thought I'd finished this story, but Sariel wouldn't go away, so I'm adding another chapter:

**3.**

Dean took a gulp of coffee, wishing he'd had the presence of mind to bring a hipflask or something out with him. It was a little early to head for a bar, but seeing as how Jess and Sam wouldn't be getting out of bed anytime soon – hell, he'd be surprised if they managed it at all this year – he was on his own, and therefore bored.

He'd tried a few searches, looking for a new hunt, but come up with nothing, so instead he was sat in a coffee shop, staring out the window and wondering what to do. He'd never gotten used to boredom, hadn't exactly had that much experience of it in his life, but now he had no distractions, he couldn't help but think about the future.

He was happy Jess was alive, really happy, but having her around kind of threw things into skew a little. Sure, she'd spent the last year hunting, but would she want to carry on with that now she'd caught up with Sam? Was she gonna stick with them, riding in the backseat of the Impala while they went back and forth across the country ending bad guys? That might work for a while – although Dean envisioned a hell of a lot of arguments between the two of them along the way.

You know, the kind that went:

"_Stay in the car, Jess, I don't want you getting hurt." _

"_I'm not staying in the damn car; I'm coming with you. I'm a hunter too, don't forget."_

"_Please, Jess, just hang back, okay?" _

"_No way! I didn't come back from the dead just to sit in your car while you have all the fun!" _

"_Fun? Jess, this is serious, you'll get hurt." _

"_And you won't? Did you think I missed all the times you got your ass handed to you while I was watching from Heaven? Or what, I won't mind if you get hurt, is that it?"_

And so on. He could practically hear Sam and Jess' voices in his head and he sure as hell didn't want to end up as the third wheel. But then there was the other alternative, the one he really didn't want to think about, the one where Sam and Jess went their own way and left him on his own. Not that he couldn't cope on his own, but he'd only just gotten Sam back and while it would be easier knowing that Sammy was happy rather than thinking he was dead, he wasn't ready to part ways with his brother just yet.

He could handle Jess as a sister-in-law, no problems there, and now Sam no longer had to hide his past and everything else from her, maybe it would all work itself out, but Dean couldn't help but feel some kind of resentment. Wouldn't be the first time Sam had chosen a girl over him… Dean shoved that thought away, tried to focus on something else. So when a woman's voice coming from behind him asked if she could join him, it was a welcome distraction, and he swung around to greet her.

And was certainly not expecting to see Sariel.

The angel had popped up a few times since Jess had come back into their lives, but made it clear that, like Castiel, she was busy and not at their beck and call whenever they ran into something that wasn't life-or-death important.

"Hi."

"Hello, Dean. You look like you could use a little company."

"I guess. What brings you here?"

Sariel shrugged, untying the belt of her pristine white mackintosh and slipping out of it. Dean visibly flinched as she did so, eliciting a raise of blonde eyebrows.

"What?"

She hung it on the back of the chair opposite him as she sat down.

"It comes off, you know. Just because your friend Cas hasn't quite got the hang of wardrobe changes yet, doesn't mean we all act like clothes are glued to us."

"Sorry, just… yeah, not used to being around angels that act like people."

Sariel smiled, her face radiating warmth and maternal compassion.

"I'm a little different to the others, yes. I actually like it down here."

She signalled the server, who materialised at her side with fresh coffee so fast Dean had to wonder if Sariel had certain angelic influences he'd not yet encountered.

"So, why you here? Not that I mind you dropping by…"

Sariel shrugged again.

"Things are a little quiet right now, so I thought I'd check up on my charges, see how they're getting on."

Dean grinned.

"And you found out Jess is just fine right now, huh?"

Sariel met his eyes, sharing his amusement.

"They've been like that since she came back, haven't they?"

"Pretty much. Hey, I'm not complaining. If you only knew how hard I had to try to get Sammy laid in the past…"

"Well, the longer they stay in bed, the easier my job'll be. I doubt anyone'll try and attack her right now, and Sam's certainly in a better position to protect her right now than I am."

Dean winced at her choice of phrase.

"That is my brother you're talking about. Little too much information."

Sariel laughed, something Dean had never heard an angel do before, not in genuine amusement anyway.

"How are you doing, Dean? I know you're not my charge, but, well, I guess I have an interest in you and Sam now."

"I'm okay. Like you said, things are quiet now."

"That's not quite what I meant."

Sariel set down her coffee cup, fixing him with her grey eyes.

"I told you that I was created for the purpose of healing, yes?"

Dean nodded, not following.

"Healing means different things to different people. And it's never as simple as people think it is. I mean, any angel can heal a wound, fix an injury. That was never my purpose."

"So you're not some celestial nurse? That's a shame."

Sariel's eyebrows rose again.

"Dean Winchester. I'm practically old enough to be your mother."

"Practically? I don't mean to be rude, but I thought you angels were all older than humans in general."

"I'm referring to my vessel. Jeanette was a little vague about her exact age when I moved in, but I think right now it'd be verging on 'cougar'."

Dean grinned. Finally, an angel on his wavelength.

"Alright, Florence Nighting-angel."

Sariel grinned back, but there was a seriousness that remained within her expression.

"I was explaining my purpose… I don't know how much you've been told about us, but there are different types of angels, as well as ranks. Archangels you've met. Castiel is from the, I guess you'd call them the military aspect."

Dean had a sudden, startling mental image of Castiel in camouflage greens, lining up with other heavily armed angels, barking "Sir, yes Sir!" as they drilled on a parade ground. It did not sit well with his general perception of Cas.

"I come from a different group," Sariel continued.

"We are a little more – diverse. Our purposes are more specific, but at the same time, can cover a wide range of activities. Some only carry out one task, and are the most single-minded creatures you will ever encounter."

Her voice carried a note of impatience, frustration.

"Then there are angels who were created to perform one function, but have taken on others, like myself."

"You're a multi-tasker."

"Yes, but that's not what I mean. When I was created, part of my purpose was to serve as a Death Angel."

Dean stared at her.

"You were a _Reaper_?"

"No."

An annoyed look passed over Sariel's face.

"You're thinking in human terms. This was a very long time ago; Reapers are practically children compared to us. And that's - I was never sent to gather single souls."

"So, what?"

Dean tried to contain his impatience – just cos he had nothing else to do, didn't mean he wanted a lecture on angelic organisation. But then again, it could come in handy, so he swallowed it and listened.

"You've heard of how things used to be, back when God sent us to carry out what the Bible refers to as, I don't know, justice?"

"You mean, smiting cities and all that?"

"Exactly. Whenever the fire and brimstone brigade were sent out smiting, there were those of us who went along behind, gathering up whatever was left."

"Clean-up duty."

Sariel nodded.

"As I said, the notion of healing is complex. After the initial judgement was made, it was decreed that not all souls were to be automatically condemned to Hell, and as an angel of guidance and healing, that fell into my sphere of influence. I made every effort to lessen the trauma of that transition, to give human souls the chance to escape damnation but it was not a job that I enjoyed. And so, when I was directed to take my first vessel and work on Earth, I felt I had found my true calling among you."

"Prefer the 'up-close and personal' approach, huh?"

Sariel met his eyes again, humour sparking within them.

"What can I say? You lot may be an inferior creation, but being down here tops anything I ever got to see back in Heaven."

"Thanks."

Compared to what he'd heard some of the other angels come out with, that was practically an Oscar.

Dean finished his coffee.

"Look, I don't mean to be rude, but-"

"Why am I telling you this?"

Sariel stirred her own coffee, her expression contemplative.

"I want to explain to you what I'm trying to achieve here on Earth. I no longer escort souls to an afterlife; I haven't in thousands of years, apart from in exceptional circumstances. Instead my concern is healing in a more mortal sense of the word. Not physical healing, but – spiritual is the wrong word."

Dean just looked back at her, no clue as to what she was trying to say.

"I'm talking about you, Dean."

Dean found he had no idea what to say.

"Castiel pulled you out of Hell, healed the damage done to your body but he had no notion of how to heal the rest of you. Back then, I suppose it wouldn't have occurred to him that you needed it."

"But you look at me and see one big bleeding mess?" was Dean's somewhat heated response.

"Quite the opposite, actually."

Sariel remained serene, her grey eyes holding his hazel-green ones steadily.

"You're not as irredeemably broken as you think you are."

For a long, long moment, Dean didn't reply. Just sat there and stared back at her.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said. I mean, you have this idea in your head that you're somehow beyond repair, that you'll never get over the things you've experienced or be forgiven for what you've done, and I'm not surprised. Demons have been feeding you the 'you're not right' line for a while, haven't they? But let me put it this way. Your brother developed an addiction to drinking demon blood while kick-starting the Apocalypse. And yet he was still resurrected, and he got Jessica back."

Sariel watched a number of emotions register on Dean's face as he took this in.

"I need a drink," was his eventual reply.

"I hear you."

And with that, Dean found they were suddenly sitting in a booth of a bar, a bottle of rather good whiskey on the table between them.

"Little early for that, don't you think?"

Sariel shook her head.

"Not here; it's about 8pm, local time. We're not in Kansas anymore, puppy."

Dean glanced around. She was right; it was getting dark outside, and the signs were no longer written in English.

Damn angels.

"Not that we were in Kansas to begin with. Where d'you zap us to?"

"This used to be a favourite place of mine, once. Montmartre, just off the tourist trail."

She poured them both shots, tossed hers back and closed her eyes in appreciation.

Figuring it was probably best to go with the flow, Dean followed suit. He'd had stranger days, after all. The whiskey was smooth, mellow and felt incredibly good.

"First time I heard of an angel having a local."

"I've liked Paris for centuries. My vessel lived here too, just before she died."

Dean stared at her.

"Died?"

"Yes. I've been on Earth thousands of years; it takes a lot of energy to maintain a vessel for that long and it does peculiar things to the human host. Jeanette Lisle was dying from cancer and she agreed to let me use her body as a vessel when she passed on. She was the last soul I escorted to Heaven. That was, oh, about sixty years ago."

"It's just you in there, huh? I never heard of that."

That wasn't technically true, but Dean wouldn't put Sariel and Ruby in the same category, given the choice. And he knew demonic possession differed drastically from angelic, although what Sariel was saying him troubled him.

"You said she was dying. Couldn't you have healed her?"

He knocked back another whiskey, Sariel following suit.

"The cancer? Technically, I did. Such things can't affect an angelic vessel when occupied."

"But before that," Dean persisted, remembering against his will his own, Zachariah induced, experiences with cancer.

"You could have saved her life."

Sariel gave him a steady look.

"She had made her peace with her situation, and was ready to go to Heaven. That was why I chose her as my vessel; finding volunteers is not always easy."

"So you let some poor woman die a painful death because you wanted a new pair of boots?"

Dean struggled not to let his anger get the better of him, but somehow conversing with angels always seemed to lead to an argument.

Sariel wasn't all that composed anymore, either.

"I didn't cause the cancer, Dean. It's not my place to interfere with every little thing that happens on Earth."

"Little? You think dying from cancer is a little thing?"

"That isn't what I meant. And she was not uncompensated. She went to Heaven, I made sure of that."

"Well, that makes everything better."

Remembering Heaven, Dean didn't think that was as great a reward as poor Jeanette might have thought it was.

"Don't sit there judging me, Dean Winchester."

Sariel sounded pissed off now, but then Dean was kind of used to getting that reaction from angels.

"And don't presume to know better than we do. Or is everything in the world so simple, so black and white to you?"

She downed a third shot, not bothering with the glass this time, drinking straight from the bottle in a way that sat at odds with her off-duty headmistress appearance.

"You say I should have healed her. If I'd done that, where would I stop? What about all the other cancer sufferers? Every other terminal illness and all the things that destroy people's lives without killing them? Should I stand behind every human on Earth, waiting until they get so much as a hangnail so I can makes it all better? I'm one angel, Dean, not everyone's Mommy."

The angrier Sariel got, the more Dean was aware of a kind of aura emanating from her, an almost glowing white light surrounding her form, as if her Grace was making itself known within her. Or perhaps Sariel, in contrast to other angels, became less human the more emotional she got.

Dean, on the other hand, found his own anger dissipating.

"Hey, I'm just saying-"

"Well, don't. You think it's easy for us, watching you? There are a lot – and I mean a _lot_ – of rules that apply to us when we're down here. I've done my best to break only those that won't get me yanked back up to Heaven to get reamed out by my superiors, but I don't fool myself that I'm not being checked up on."

Dean, having witnessed how rebelling angels were treated by Heaven's enforcers, could understand that.

Sariel took another gulp of whiskey, slamming the bottle down on the table and pulling the pins out of her hair so it fell down around her shoulders. Dean picked up the bottle and took a hefty swig himself, unsure whether he was dealing with another angel going into meltdown _à la mode de_ Castiel.

"I don't want to get into all that now."

Sariel answered his unspoken question, picking stray blonde hairs from her white sweater and dark blue jeans.

"I came here to talk about you, not some massive existential conversation about humanity and angelic intervention."

"And what makes me so special, out of everybody in the world, that I get the hands-on healing from an angel?"

Sariel poured out two more shots, pushing his glass closer. Dean didn't need any encouragement.

"Don't start all that again. You know how important you are, so don't be an idiot."

"Nice. Way to build a guy up and cut him down in one sentence."

"Thank you."

Sariel seemed to have switched off the anger with remarkable ease; Dean's had pretty much faded, but he still wasn't thrilled about Sariel's psychoanalysing him.

"So what makes you think I need your help?"

"I want to help you, for a number of reasons," Sariel replied, both ignoring and answering his question at the same time.

"You Winchesters are the result of a lot of planning by the guys upstairs that I have no interest in, but now that's over you fall into my remit. Jessica is concentrating her efforts on Sam right about now, so he wouldn't want my help if I offered and to be blunt, she's better for him than I am. Which leaves you."

Dean thought that over.

"Are you trying to seduce me?"

Sariel, halfway through downing her whiskey measure, snorted with laughter.

"Don't 'Mrs Robinson' me, boy. I won't be using the same technique as Jessica, no. If only because I'm not sure you'd survive the experience."

Dean grinned, thinking if he'd survived bedding one angel (albeit an almost human one), the Apocalypse and hitting on Jo Harvelle within earshot of her mother, there wasn't much left to worry about, but Sariel held up her hand to ward off the inevitable reply.

"Don't even go there. This conversation is rapidly derailing."

"I'm just saying," Dean quirked his eyebrows.

"You're the one who took me to Paris and tried to get me drunk."

"Fair point. But no, Dean, I am not trying to sleep with you."

Although her eyes ran over him in a way that suggested otherwise and Dean had to ask.

"Just out of interest… do _any_ of you guys, you know?"

"Have sex? Sure. You think I could go two thousand years in a variety of human bodies without at least trying it out?"

Dean smirked, reaching for the whiskey bottle again.

"That explains a lot. Most of the other angels I met, they needed to get laid, real bad."

"Not all of us react the same way to taking a vessel. Some of those higher up the hierarchy think so much of themselves, it makes them feel dirty just coming down to Earth. The last thing they want to do is start getting intimate with the locals."

"Yeah, I bet. That's not what's stopping all of them, though."

Sariel paused, glass halfway to her mouth.

"You mean your boy, Cas?"

"Hey, it's not like I didn't try to get him laid. It's easier trying to find Sammy a girl."

"Really? In that vessel? I'd have thought one glimpse of those pretty blue eyes would be enough to have him fighting them off with a big stick."

Sariel's expression went momentarily dreamy, startling Dean. He might have expected a pre-Grace Anna to have come out with something like that, but not a full angel.

"You knew him before he came down to Earth?" he asked, hoping to distract her from whatever mental pictures she was currently conjuring.

Dean really, really did not want to know.

"Kind of. Like I said, we were part of different factions. But we met."

"What was he like then? In Heaven?"

Sariel considered this.

"He was a lot different, yes. Down here isn't exactly his comfort zone; he seems to be having more trouble coping with things. You have to understand, the Heaven we think of isn't the same as the part you saw."

"Figured."

"But I knew who he was. I didn't have much to do with soldiers unless they were-"

She made a gesture with her hands to indicate 'angelic smiting' that more than got the point across.

"But Castiel had a certain reputation. A dutiful soldier, always followed orders. Hard worker. I mean, way beyond the call of duty. Not everyone liked that."

That made Dean smile.

"Made them look bad, huh?"

"Oh, yes. I suppose that was why he was chosen to fetch you up from Hell. That shocked a lot of the others."

"Why?"

Sariel seemed surprised by the question.

"Send one little foot soldier into Hell? Even archangels don't go there unless they have to. It's no easier for us down there than it is you lot. Well, not much."

That had never occurred to Dean. Cas had always been so matter-of-fact about rescuing him, he'd never thought about how Cas had achieved it.

"Getting in isn't the hard part, of course. Getting out again, and carrying a human soul that's under contract to be there? I don't think many of his superiors expected him to do it, but then they didn't know how important you were then, so they didn't care much either way."

"So why did he do it, if he didn't think I was important?"

"I never said he thought that. And even if he did…it was commanded of him. He was a good boy and did what he was told, you know that. Guess it hit him pretty hard when he realised those giving the orders weren't always right."

Dean didn't need that pointing out to him; he'd been right there.

Sariel looked thoughtful.

"I do wonder when he started questioning. I never had such a 'boom' moment as he did, more of a slow realisation over a long time while I was living down here. That's why I don't go back unless I have to, but also why I never did anything as dramatic as your boy. But then it must always have been part of the Plan – whoever pulled you out must always have been the one who was supposed to work alongside you…"

Dean was having a little trouble keeping up with Sariel's wandering train of thought.

"What?"

"The archangels had different opinions on the Apocalypse, yes? My commander was one of those who thought we shouldn't intervene at all, once events had been set in motion, but most wanted it to happen, right?"

That wasn't the half of it, Dean thought.

"I had to kick a few archangel asses along the way, yeah."

Sariel smiled.

"Officially, I'm horrified, of course. But off the record… nice work."

"Thank you."

Dean took another mouthful of whiskey, feeling that slightly fuzzy sensation settle in his stomach from getting the right sort of drunk. He and Sariel had made a significant dent in the bottle

"My particular favourite part of all this, is that it wasn't the archangels in the end. Michael and Lucifer never got to have their face-off down to you Winchesters, and that wouldn't have happened the way it did if it wasn't for Castiel exceeding everyone's expectations. One little foot soldier changed everything, and he's still doing it now. So maybe when God, or whoever it was chose him, they did so knowing that, ultimately, he out of all the angels would rebel."

Dean felt a little buzz of pride once more, thinking how much Castiel had changed since he first met him. If he'd known how things would work out the moment Cas had walked into that barn, lightbulbs exploding all around him, maybe he wouldn't have stabbed him.

Not that it had been an easy transition for either of them, but somehow, he didn't feel so bad about any of that anymore.

Suspicion dawned.

"This is whiskey we're drinking, right?"

Sariel avoided his eyes.

"Of course."

Dean sat bolt upright.

"What d'you do?"

Eventually, she looked up at him, slightly guilty.

"Nothing bad. I told you I wanted to help you so… I gave you a little panacea."

"A what?"

"I can't heal all your hang-ups with a wave of my hand, you know. Some of my techniques are considered a little… unorthodox by my brothers and sisters. But whatever works, hey?"

"What is this?"

Dean grabbed the bottle, holding it up to the light.

"Technically, it is whiskey. I just – put a sort of spell on it. To help you sort out some of your issues. Call it liquid peace."

"You put your solution to my problems in alcohol? You know how fucked up an idea that is?"

This had clearly not occurred to Sariel.

"Now you put it that way… But it was the only way I could think of getting you to drink it, and like a lot of spells, it won't work unless ingested. Stop panicking, it's all good! Don't forget, I've been drinking it too."

"What does it do to you?"

"Nothing. It doesn't work on angels, except as alcohol. Look, I'm sorry you think I tricked you, but you are possibly the most resistant person to being helped out I've ever come across, you know that?"

Dean considered this.

"How does it work?"

Sariel smiled.

"I'm not giving away my secrets. Besides, no human could ever reproduce the effect. Let's just say I've adapted my techniques over the millennia and found this one works the best. And if you decide to stop being such an ass and let me help you properly, I can do more. For now… well, you'll sleep better, for a start."

"This is Nightmare-Be-Gone?"

Dean poured out another measure.

"In a fashion, yes. Should take the edge off, for a while."

He stared at her; she seemed a little pleased with herself, but he couldn't bring himself to care at that point and drank the shot.

"Got any more?"

Sariel snapped her fingers and the bottle was full again.

"Don't overdo it, boy. It is still whiskey, after all, and I don't want to have to grow you a new liver in six months or so."

She got to her feet, picking up her mac and swinging it over her shoulders.

"Where are you going?"

"Thought I'd drop in on your buddy Castiel. I've done all I can for you tonight; Sam and Jess are okay. Maybe he needs a little healing touch too."

And she vanished.

It took a second for the consequences of this to sink in.

"I'm still in France!" he bellowed, not caring what the other patrons of the bar thought. If they hadn't noticed an angel dropping by with her own bottle of magic whiskey, they wouldn't give a crap when some drunk American started shouting. Unless she really had left him there and he had to take a plane back…

"Freakin' angels!"

He got to his feet, grabbing the whiskey bottle, and suddenly found he was back where he'd started out that day, albeit on the sidewalk outside the coffee shop. He blinked in the sudden morning sunshine, momentarily confused by the transition from night into day as he crossed continents in under a second. He also didn't feel at all drunk anymore, although the calm feeling that had started to grow within him remained. All of a sudden, nothing seemed so bad.

So… Sam got Jess back, and Dean got a drinking session in Paris with a headshrinking angel. Not exactly fair, but it was better than nothing and it sort of seemed to be working.

Maybe, just maybe, he'd take Sariel up on her offer sometime.


	4. Chapter 4

Just to re-iterate; this is not meant to take place within Season 6, but a kind of alternative 'what if?' that I started before seeing any of the 'real' season 6. Therefore the characters are more how they were within Season 5, so to speak.

**4.**

Sariel paced the room, deep in thought.

Other than the wardship of a newly resurrected Jessica Moore, she had received no word from Heaven as to her work in some time – the year following the averted Apocalypse had been especially confusing for both Heaven and Earth, so it was not surprising she had been almost forgotten. Besides, she had become used to near-autonomy in the millennia she had held human form, and there was a lot to be done on Earth – what Dean referred to as clean-up duty.

Sariel had abandoned any lofty views when she elected to stay on Earth and preferred such tasks to the idea of returning to Heaven and tackling the enormous mess that it no doubt was in the absence of God and half a dozen Archangels.

Despite this, there was no reason, she should not attempt to bridge the gap between the two. A number of angels frequented Earth – most of these, Sariel chose to avoid, given the opportunity – but one of them, she could feel that he needed her, whether he knew it or not. But how to go about it? Sariel doubted the technique she had just employed on the Winchester boy would work, even if her physic had any effect on angels. Perhaps it was best to go back to basics.

She sat on the bed – borrowing a currently unoccupied apartment was a small crime for an angel, and one she was sure no-one would bother her about – and closed her eyes. Some said there was a particular wavelength that angels communicated on, or that certain rituals were needed to find the one you required. Sariel had always found that shouting real loud worked just fine.

A moment later, she opened her eyes, and there he was.

"Hello, Castiel."

"Sariel. Why have you summoned me? Is there trouble?"

"No, but that's part of the problem. You always think there's trouble."

Castiel fixed his dark blue eyes on her.

"There generally is."

Sariel shrugged, getting to her feet and throwing off her white coat. She went over to the mirror on the wall and started to comb out her blonde hair with her fingers.

"Probably. But what I mean is, when was the last time you did anything for a reason other than it was important you did it?"

Castiel's brow furrowed.

"I don't follow."

"Something for yourself. Just you; not the world, or Heaven, or those two pretty walking bundles of strife called Winchester."

She turned back to face him; the healer aspect of her generally manifested itself in an almost maternal desire to take care of others, to fix their problems any way she could. The look of utter confusion on her fellow angel's face right then would have inspired that desire in pretty much anyone, she was sure, and she had to restrain herself from giving him a hug.

"What are you talking about?"

"I just spent an hour or so with Dean, discussing the nature of healing," Sariel told him.

"Or arguing about it, at least. Boy is the most stubborn ass I've ever come across, but at least he understands that he needs healing, even if he doesn't want me to."

"Why would he not want to be healed? What needs healing?"

"With him? Pretty much everything, starting with the idea that he's broken in the first place. I don't think he's ready yet, but he will be. You, on the other hand…"

"Me?"

"Yes, you, Castiel; Angel Of The Lord. Though no-one's seen him in some time, so maybe I should just call you 'Angel'."

The look she was giving him now made Castiel even more uncomfortable.

"I still have no idea what you're talking about."

Sariel sighed.

"And I thought it was just humans that are this dense. I need to fulfil the function I was created for, and that involves the healing and guidance of angels too. You've had a rough few years, and I don't think you've allowed yourself to admit that, have you?"

"I am also fulfilling my function, Sariel. There is nothing strange about that."

"Really? You were created to avert the Apocalypse? To restore order to Heaven in the aftermath? Because I think that's a little above your paygrade, sweetheart. No offence."

"None taken. But you still haven't-"

"I'm getting there."

Sariel picked up a bottle of whiskey from the sideboard that hadn't been there a minute earlier and took a swig.

"You want some?"

She proffered the bottle.

Castiel eyed it with apprehension.

"No, thank you. I'm – on the fence right now."

"I think you mean on the wagon. Okay."

Sariel put the bottle back down and, without any warning, went over to Castiel and kissed him full on the mouth.

Startled, Castiel did not respond for a moment, then drew back.

"What are you doing?"

"You were restored, 'new and improved', that much I can tell. But all resurrections leave their mark and are difficult to heal. I like a challenge."

Castiel's blue eyes bored into hers, trying to read her.

"As you can see, my intent is genuine."

"I did not doubt that."

The air of vulnerability he exuded made Sariel's fingertips itch, calling to the need in her to heal a wound, emotional or physical.

She stroked her hand down his face, feeling the stubble on the face of his vessel, knowing that the angel inside would feel the sensation instead of the human who had been born into that body. She had become accustomed to being the sole occupant of her vessel, but Castiel, newer to possessing human form, still found such things confusing. It had taken her a while to get used to that herself, back in the beginning of her time on Earth.

She leaned in to kiss him again, and this time, he let her.

Apart from the, ah, 'incident' in the brothel Dean had taken him to, Cas had tried not to let 'temptations of the flesh' get in the way of his work. He had always been so focused, driven, trying to do what was right, for the best. Sariel was right; it had not occurred to him to do anything for himself, even had there been time to do so. It had taken a human to push him into experiencing anything earthly, and those had rarely worked out well. But Sariel was an earth-bound angel who'd experienced similar things to himself and perhaps that was the closest to someone who understood him he'd ever get. And if that was what she meant by healing, then perhaps it could work, and he decided to go along with it.

Sariel pressed up against him, arms wrapping around him and Castiel began to feel the human body he possessed respond. He had expected some kind of magic from Sariel; an arcane ritual he had not previously known about, or some kind of healing ceremony, and had been prepared to indulge her, thinking perhaps it would prove useful to get her support in the future, whenever he might need it.

But now it was dawning on him that nothing of the sort was occurring; what Sariel had in mind was sex, pure and simple. That realisation made Castiel uncertain – sex was not something he knew much about, even between angels. Dean's "cloud-seeding" comment hadn't made any sense to him, but then again, it was difficult enough trying to keep up with Dean in a conversation of that type at the best of times.

"Sariel…"

"Shh. Try not to worry, okay? I got this."

"But -"

"I said shhh."

Sariel pressed a fingertip to his lips.

She slipped the trench coat and jacket from his shoulders, guiding him toward the bed, pushing him gently back until he was sitting on its edge. Watched as she took hold of the hem of her sweater, raising her arms and pulling it off over her head. Her golden hair fanned out around her shoulders, catching the late morning sunlight so that it shone like a halo. Which was ironic, Castiel thought, seeing as how angels had never had them and he had no idea why humans insisted on depicting angels as fluffy-winged harp-players.

Sariel straddled him, hands on his shoulders and he found himself responding instinctively, his own hands taking hold of her by the waist as he turned his face up toward her to kiss her again.

He could feel the magical energy levels in the room rising, but was too distracted by what he was experiencing up close to analyse them. Clearly Sariel was more powerful than he had given her credit for. There was a certain… divide between the soldier angels like himself and those with more esoteric abilities; indeed, there were those in his garrison who believed that the creation of angels like Sariel had been through a weakness their Creator had towards the needs of humanity.

But at that precise moment, Castiel found it hard to care about any of that. Sariel felt warm in his arms. He could smell the perfume she wore, feel her hair brush his cheek, hear her heartbeat. That was strange, he thought. As the sole possessor of a technically dead human form, should she need to keep the heart beating?

But then Sariel stood up and divulged the rest of her clothing, and any such questions vanished from Castiel's mind.

He watched her undress, transfixed, a sense of the rest of the world, Heaven and Hell and everything in between fading into nothing, caught up in the moment, the here and now in a way he never had before.

Sariel reached out and undid the tie from around his neck, unbuttoning the shirt and again his hands moved almost unthinkingly to caress her. Unlike his only previous experience of sex, this felt right. All his nerves had disappeared as he pulled Sariel down on top of him, kissing her as they fell back on the bed, the rest of his clothes quickly joining the heap on the floor.

"You see?" Sariel breathed in his ear. "It's good to take a moment for yourself, every now and then, yes?"

Castiel had often struggled to find the right words in order to express himself, among humans. With Sariel, there was no need at all. Energy filled the room now, an almost audible humming and Castiel realised that Sariel had begun to glow, her Grace emanating from within her. Healing magics or no, Castiel could feel what she was trying to do and no longer cared.

Rolling him onto his back, Sariel straddled him once more, hands on his chest for support as she took him inside herself. Castiel's own hands slid upward, filling themselves with her breasts, eyes closing, losing himself in the overpowering sensations.

"No," Sariel said, one hand touching him lightly beneath the chin.

"Look at me, Castiel."

He looked; the glow surrounding Sariel had increased as her wings began to unfold, a dazzlingly brilliant pure white. And yet they continued to unfurl until each wingtip had reached the sides of the room, the light now so bright that it hurt his eyes.

Castiel felt himself drawn upwards, sitting up so that he could look directly into Sariel's eyes. Her expression was serene, but lit up with the intensity of her power, her energy, her purpose.

Slowly, carefully, she drew her wings in, enfolding him gently within them and Castiel felt as if he were dissolving in the white-hot sensation, everything that he was cleansed and forgiven, leaving him nothing but that one moment.

For a long, long moment, the two angels remained locked together, staring into each other's eyes, perfect serenity surrounding them both. Then Sariel began to draw her wings back, the light of her Grace fading like a sunset.

"We all have a purpose, Castiel," Sariel whispered to him.

"This is part of mine. And, hopefully, now, you can better fulfil yours."

And then she was gone, vanishing along with the last of her light. But something did linger; the sense of stillness and tranquillity remained, and Castiel lay back on the bed, breathing deeply, and feeling, for perhaps the first time, relaxed and at peace.

* * *

I held off on uploading this because, as Sariel is my OC, it could be interpreted as horribly Mary-Sue-ish, which wasn't my intent. Once I'd written Sariel as the Angel of Healing, I figured this was sort of inevitable.


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